


devil's got us (on the run)

by sterydia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BAMF Derek Hale, BAMF Lydia Martin, BAMF Stiles, Established Relationship, Major Character Injury, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 15:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7720045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterydia/pseuds/sterydia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This plan is stupid and we are going to die,” Stiles said for the third time.</p><p>-</p><p>Stiles, Lydia and Derek are trying to catch a murderer, but it doesn't go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	devil's got us (on the run)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nival_Vixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nival_Vixen/gifts).



> Written for [Nival_Vixen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nival_Vixen) for the [Polyamorous Wolf Exchange](http://polyamorouswolfexchange.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Obviously, I was jumping for joy when I saw the pairing of Sterydia in the application I was paired with, and I really enjoyed writing this story. It's my first foray into writing a polyfic, so I hope I did okay and I hope that it's enjoyed! I went with the first prompt choice of spies, and somehow it turned out a bit different. Many many thanks to the wonderful [Impala_Chick](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Chick/pseuds/Impala_Chick) for the beta!

“This plan is stupid and we are going to die,” Stiles said for the third time, tossing the stack of papers he’d been sifting through onto the table.

While Lydia could see some flaws in what they were about to do, she thought that Stiles was being a tad overdramatic.

“It was your plan!” Derek’s exasperated voice echoed through the room, “I’m pretty sure you said ‘nothing can go wrong, I’ve got this all figured out’.”

They’d been at the job for almost six weeks. Finding the mark had been easy, but getting their hands on Leonard Brunski was a little bit more difficult. Stiles could normally hack into any system they needed access too, but Brunski must have had a hacker on his payroll, because getting past the man’s security system was proving to be impossible. They had considered letting Derek snatch Brunski out of thin air, but he never went anywhere with less than four guards, all armed. Leonard Brunski had more money and resources than they did, and money always talked.

“I can handle it, I promise,” Lydia said, trying to smooth out the situation. They didn’t need to be arguing, not during a job. It wasn’t even that serious of an argument, not really.

“You’re sure?” This from Derek.

“Lyds, this guy is dangerous…” Stiles trailed off, picking up the papers again.

She shrugged her shoulders, knowing that she was the last resort. The only way that they were going to get to Brunski was to put something in his line of vision that he couldn’t resist.

“It’ll be fine. You’ll both be there with me,” she assured them. Because there was one place that Brunski would go where his guards wouldn’t follow.

*

The bar was called Flow, but Lydia was already bored. It was one of those exclusive places that you had to have a membership card to get into, or be on someone else’s arm. Lucky for her, she knew the right people. The music was too loud, the lights too low, and every time the brunette at the end of the bar laughed, it made Lydia grit her teeth. But at least the martinis were good.

She had already cased the place by the time she was on her second drink, swirling the cherry around the rim of the glass as she focused on the entrance of the club. So many people were milling about and it was hard to hear any of the conversations that were going on, but that wasn’t what she was there for.

“Well hey there, Little Red,” a voice said from behind her, and the corner of Lydia’s mouth turned up wryly. Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, she brought the cherry to her mouth and pulling it from the stem with her teeth, savoring the tart flavor as she bit into it.

“If I’m Little Red -” She turned around, making sure to hide her annoyance behind a mask of interest. The man’s eyes raked over her figure, and she knew the little black halter dress that she wore had been a good choice. “- does that make you the big bad wolf?”

“Leonard.” He introduced himself with a charming smile.

Lydia already knew that. Leonard Brunski  had a thing for strawberry blondes, more specifically strawberry blondes with seven figure bank accounts and vulnerability issues.

“Marie.” The name slipped easily from her lips, her usual cover name.

Leonard reached out, curling a strand of her hair around his finger. Lydia’s eyes slanted towards the swizzle stick lying by her margarita glass, and she contemplated jamming it into the back of his hand.

“Let me buy you a drink, Marie,” he said, and she realized that he wasn’t asking. He was going to buy her a drink whether she wanted it or not. But she wanted it.

“I’ll have another cherry martini, Leonard, thank you,” she said demurely as she turned to pick up her glass and finish her drink. For a brief moment, she felt Leonard’s hand on her lower back, and she tried not to tense up.

Throughout the night, it had taken twenty minutes or so to get the attention of the bartender. She watched, impressed, as Leonard managed to flag down a bartender in moments. He slipped the guy a fifty dollar bill, ordering a cherry martini and a whiskey neat for himself. As he handed Leonard his drink, the bartender winked at Lydia. She flipped him off discreetly. He was going to get them caught if he drew enough attention to the fact that he knew her.

“So, why don’t you tell me about yourself?” Leonard asked, but his interest was forced. He didn’t care. He wanted to get her to finish a few more drinks and then offer to take her home. Lydia knew his game.

But she never got a chance to answer him. A hand closed around her bicep and she was pulled against a hard chest. Her drink sloshed over the edge of her glass and right down the front of her dress.

“Hey!” She shouted indignantly, turning her head to glare up into a familiar pair of hazel eyes. Derek was supposed to be playing the part of the jealous boyfriend, the one whose arm she’d walked into the bar on. It was all for Leonard’s benefit, although the annoyance over her dress was real. There was cherry martini soaking into her bra.

“We’re leaving,” Derek growled, and Lydia had to try very hard to pretend that Derek’s possessiveness didn’t affect her in the slightest.

She yanked her arm out of his grip. “I’m not ready to go yet. My new friend Leonard bought me a drink and we’re getting to know each other.”

“Say goodbye to your  _ new friend _ . We are leaving.” He said in such a way that Lydia felt a shiver run down her spine. But she refused to break character.

He started to reach for her again but, like expected, Leonard got in the way. He put a hand on Derek’s chest to shove him back, but he didn’t even sway. And yet, the cocky smirk stayed on Leonard’s face.

“She wants to stay with me. Why don’t you take a hike, pal?” Leonard suggested, poking Derek in the chest again.

Derek punched him in the face. Even over the music, Lydia heard the crunch of bone, and blood started gushing from Leonard’s broken nose. She knew that she was supposed to move to defend him, but she was transfixed by the scene before her. She watched as Derek shoved the guy hard enough against the bar that there would be bruises  in a matter of hours. Finally, she handed Leonard a napkin. While he was distracted attempting to mop up the blood, Lydia took his cell phone from his pocket and tucked it into her purse discreetly.

“Hey!” The bartender who had gotten them their drinks slammed his hands down on the counter so that he would be heard. “Take that shit outside, or I’m calling the cops.”

That was their cue. The bartender gave them a slight nod, letting them know that he would take it from there. Derek snatched her up by her arm again, hauling her into the crowd before Leonard could protest. The bartender didn't; he still had his part to play. She pretended to struggle, stumbling on her heels. As they got deeper into the mass of bodies pressed together, Derek’s grip loosened and he slid his hand down her wrist, eventually twisting their fingers together gently.

When they got to the exit, she pushed Derek against the wall, pointing a finger at him, “You’re buying me a new dress, Hale.”

“Promise.” He agreed, nodding his head. He brushed a thumb over her arm. “Did I hurt you?”

She waved him off. She’d been through worse. It was part of the job.

“I’m fine. We need to go before Brunski thinks to follow us. Stiles will handle the rest,” she said, linking her arm through his and pulling him out of the noisy club.

Just like that, Marie ceased to be. She was Lydia Martin again.

*

“That asshole broke my nose!”

Stiles fought the urge to roll his eyes. No one had even batted an eye at the scene that had just happened, and that was probably because of how exclusive the club was. Discretion was key, and no one wanted to get in the middle of something that was none of their business. Instead of telling Leonard Brunski that he’d deserved so much more, he silently handed him more napkins and turned to make him another drink.

Getting the pills into the whiskey had been ridiculously easy, and Stiles waited for them to dissolve before he slid the glass across the bar, “Here you go buddy, on the house.You look like you could use it.”

Six weeks of casing Brunski and dissecting his entire life had finally paid off. He’d been known to frequent the bar, and without his usual guard detail, but it had taken three tries to get his attention. Lydia had been a little offended by that. But now they had his phone, and soon they would have him. The amount of money he was worth made working late nights for the past few weeks, going home reeking of stale cigarettes and beer, all worth it. It wasn’t like they were going to kill him. They weren’t killers; extortionists and grifters maybe, but it wasn’t their intention to murder him. He was worth more money alive. The family of the girl who died because of Leonard Brunski was paying a lot.

The drugs were going to work quick, he didn’t have much time. “You wanna get yourself cleaned up? You can use the employee bathroom.”

And just like he’d taken the bait with Lydia, Leonard took the bait that Stiles offered, following him towards the back of the club. Stiles knew playing on the guy’s ego would do the trick. He’d built up his cover, working there for almost three weeks. No one even batted an eye at them as he led Leonard through the doors in the back. Leonard didn’t notice Stiles sending a text to Boyd, who was waiting outside the exit in the van to take Leonard away. He was too busy slumping against the nearest wall.

“What’s wrong with me?” he asked, his voice slurred.

Stiles whistled to himself as he pulled the zip ties for Leonard’s wrists from his pocket. “Oh, you’re just getting what you deserve, Mr. Brunski. Meredith Walker is dead because of you, and her parents are expecting you to get your day in court.”

The man looked confused, and if he hadn’t been drugged, he probably would have protested. Stiles yanked the ties tight around his wrists.

“Who are you?” Leonard asked, though it took him a few tries.

“Me? Oh, I’m no one. A figment of your imagination. No one will remember seeing me with you, don’t worry. Just like no one will remember seeing you with the pretty girl and the guy who broke your nose. You probably should have chosen a busier nightclub. Nighty night, Mr. Brunski.”

The last thing that Leonard saw before he lost consciousness was Stiles’ smug face.

*

Derek lifted his head off of the pillow when he heard the key turn in the lock. The digital clock on the nightstand said that it was after two in the morning. He and Lydia got back to the house a little before midnight. Sliding out from beneath the sheets, he tried not to wake Lydia. She shifted, rolling into the warm spot that he’d vacated, shoving her arms beneath his pillow.

Stiles was shrugging out of his coat in the foyer when Derek came down the hall. “Did everything go okay with Brunski?” 

Derek turned on the lamp on the end table so that there would be some light in the room.

“Yeah, Boyd’s gonna drive him back tonight. And Lydia’s got his phone to be sent out in the morning? Well, later on today,” Stiles said, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

Derek and Lydia had looked through the phone already. The evidence that they needed was there, both in text messages and photo form. Leonard Brunski was going away for a long time.

“Do you want me to make you something to eat?” Derek asked. Stiles looked tired, and Derek could see dark circles starting to form under his eyes from long nights at the bar.

“That depends,” Stiles gestured to Derek’s bruised hand. “If you’re going to let me take a look at that or not.”

Derek shrugged indifferently, “Nothing’s broken, I already checked.”

That was the way that it had always been. If Lydia or Stiles got hurt doing a job, it was Derek who patched them up and looked after them. But he was stubborn, and most of the time if he got hurt, he would wave them off and tell them that he was fine. It drove them both crazy, and he knew it. But he was set in his ways.

“Right. I’m gonna take a shower. Last night of smelling like an old cigarette! When I come back, maybe,” Stiles said, kissing Derek before walking around him..

“Want me to wash your back for you?” He asked with a grin. Stiles’ soft laugh followed him down the hall into the bathroom. The door was left open in invitation.

It was tempting, but instead Derek went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Lydia had refused to let them live off of take-out alone, but there was still a few slices of leftover pizza in a box on the bottom shelf. Derek put them on a paper plate and popped them into the microwave. Even after being in the apartment for six weeks, the place still didn’t feel like home. Home was a house in Beacon Hills, with its big backyard and the quiet preserve surrounding it. 

This life was all that Derek knew, he was born into it. His parents Talia and Nathaniel founded Triskele Inc, along with Alan Deaton and a man named Deucalion. And it wasn’t just turning egocentric murderers over to the proper authorities; they did so much more than that. So much more, in fact, that Derek couldn’t step foot in New York for fear that the  FBI would be on his trail. The company was discreet and effective. Derek had been a part of it since he was barely out of his teens, while Lydia and Stiles had both come in at different times. Stiles joined right out of high school, and Lydia during her junior year of college. Everyone had their part to play, a role to fill. It wasn’t always honest work, but the money was great, but even better than that, Derek had his family. He had Lydia and Stiles.

Derek went back down the hall to the bedroom. Lydia had shifted back into the middle of the king sized bed; the only bed in the apartment. The person renting the apartment hadn’t even batted an eye when the three of them checked in together. Climbing back beneath the sheets, Derek curled himself around her body, pressing his nose into her hair. She shifted around a bit, but stayed sleeping. The shower cut off, and he dozed on and off until Stiles finally climbed into bed on Lydia’s opposite side.

“I miss our bed,” he mumbled into the pillow, and Derek smiled sleepily, hooking his foot around Stiles’ ankle.

“Tomorrow night we’ll be in our bed,” he promised.

Lydia reached out suddenly, her hand landing on Stiles’ face in a light slap. “Go to sleep, Stilinski, or I’ll strangle you.”

Stiles muttered something unintelligible into the fabric of the pillowcase, and Derek chuckled softly. One of his arms stretched over Lydia’s body, his fingers curling into the side of Stiles’ shirt and just holding on.

Derek fell asleep looking forward to going home.

*

It wasn’t always Derek, Lydia and Stiles.

Lydia used to hide her intelligence in high school, through her sophomore year. She excelled in her classes, but she wasn’t about to let her social circle know that she could read archaic Latin or that she took her PSATs during her freshman year. When her relationship with the captain of the lacrosse team ended, she gave up on playing dumb for popularity.

Stiles was the one who always challenged her intelligence in a way that she respected. He never seemed surprised when she said something smart; the day she taught him about making self igniting molotov cocktails had been quite an experience. But they fit together in a way that she and Jackson never had, and that was probably what made Lydia fall in love with him in the first place. 

Her big plans for after high school sort of fell through; it was hard to focus on her Field’s Medal when her mother admitted to her that they were in debt, and her grandmother’s lake house would only pay for three years of Lydia’s tuition. It was one of the reasons Lydia started working at the tutoring center when she was in her senior year of high school. And tutoring was how she got to know the Hale family better. They were already infamous in Beacon Hills, mostly because they owned half of the town. There were a lot of rumors about them; some even said they they were involved with the mob and that was how they made their money. Lydia didn’t believe any of it. She tutored their daughter Cora after she’d been injured playing soccer and fell behind in a few classes. A lot of her free time on the weekends was spent at the Hale house. That was how she got to know Derek.

He liked to read old books, could wield sarcasm in a way that would make Stiles proud, and he loved his family. Stiles already knew him because Derek was only a few years older than them and was friends with Stiles’ step-brother Scott. Sometimes, Stiles would come over to the Hale’s with Lydia when she had a tutoring session with Cora. She didn’t imagine the way that Stiles’ eyes followed Derek around the kitchen as he cooked dinner for the family, and she couldn’t exactly blame him. If Derek noticed, and she knew he did, he never said anything about it. Not at first.

When Talia Hale came to Stiles offering him the job to work for Triskele Inc, Lydia told him to take it. It was a great opportunity. She wasn’t stupid, she knew what the family really did. Using the word spy was silly, but she knew that their money came from somewhere besides a handful of businesses in town. 

Stiles got to travel the world, mostly working with the team that Derek had already put together. Stiles was also eventually able to put a downpayment on an apartment in Palo Alto for them, close to the college so that Lydia wouldn’t have to live in the dorms. He was there with Lydia whenever he wasn’t on a job. Sometimes Derek was too, taking the guest bedroom at Lydia’s instance. She went to school until the money ran out, and when Stiles offered to pay for her final year of college, Lydia turned him down. Instead, she asked Talia Hale for a job.

It was after Lydia’s third job working with Derek and Stiles that she’d finally had enough with the less than casual glances that they were all passing back and forth. She was pretty sure that Stiles got that same look on his face that he’d had when she explained the self igniting molotov cocktail to him. Only now, he was gazing at Derek. 

Finally, Lydia grabbed Derek by the lapels of his leather jacket, pushed herself up on her tiptoes and kissed him. Stiles had known what she was going to do, so the only person caught off guard had been Derek. But she explained to him, after he had gently pushed her away and started apologizing, that both she and Stiles wanted to be with him. 

Derek hadn’t been against the idea, but he’d been hesitant about it at first. Not the idea of it, but the idea that they both had feelings for him. Stiles chose to confirm this by tugging Derek out of the light grip that Lydia still had on his wrist, pulling him close and pressing their mouths together. Lydia was a little bit enthralled with the way Stiles’ eyelashes fluttered and the way Derek’s palm fit along Stiles’ jaw, his thumb brushing over his cheekbone. They both pulled back, trying to catch their breath, and Lydia decided that was something she would never going to get tired of seeing; not them kissing, but the wrecked look on their faces afterwards. Stiles looked at her the same way, and a part of her knew that Derek would look at her the same way too.

There was a lot that they had to talk about that night, but there was no going back after that.

*

They’d forgotten to close the curtains, Derek realized a minute too late as he rolled over, nearly blinded by the rays of sunshine that poured through the window. Sitting up, he reached for his glasses, his eyes still half closed. It was almost nine, and if they wanted to make their flight at noon, they were going to have to make an effort to start getting ready. The incentive of actual relaxation, since there wasn’t an immediate job waiting for them when they got back home, helped. Behind him in the bed, Stiles let out an undignified snort in his sleep, and the corner of Derek’s mouth twisted up in amusement.

“Lydia,” Derek twisted around, fitting his palm over her hip and shaking her gently. She made a noise of protest, but reached up to rub at her eyes. She was always easier to wake than Stiles. “I’m gonna make coffee. You wake Prince Charming.”

“Mmmk,” she mumbled, slowly pulling herself up into a sitting position. Derek kissed the top of her head before leaving the room. He was halfway down the hall when he heard Stiles let out a surprised yelp, followed by a loud thud that was probably Stiles hitting the floor. Derek shook his head fondly and kept going.

The steady hum of the refrigerator seemed loud in the quiet apartment. He started the coffee, his eyes catching the number for the cleaner that was stuck to the freezer door. When they left the house, all Derek had to do was call a certain number, and someone would come and make it look like they had never been there. 

“I’m just saying,” Stiles and Lydia were coming down the hall. “There are nicer ways to wake up someone you love, Lydia.”

Lydia dropped down into one of the chairs at the small kitchen table. “Not before you brush your teeth.”

Their banter was interrupted by a phone chiming on the counter. Derek realized that it was Leonard Brunski’s phone, which they must have forgotten to turn off. Picking it up, he tapped the screen and put in the password that Stiles had gotten his hands on.

“It’s a message from Schrader. He wants to know why Brunski didn’t show up after he was at the bar last night,” he said as he read it.

Schrader worked for Brunski, as a hitman of sorts. They couldn’t find anything that linked him to Meredith Walker’s death, but there was a pretty good chance that he had been the one to dispose of her body, which had never been found by the police. Derek was sure that Brunski would give up the location in exchange for some sort of deal.

“Shit shit shit!” Stiles jumped up and grabbed the phone out of Derek’s hand. Both Derek and Lydia looked at him like he was insane. He stared at the screen for a minute before cursing again. “Fuck!”

“What’s wrong?” Lydia asked.

“He opened the message! Schraeder’s gonna see that it was read, and if he’s tracking Brunski’s phone he’s going to know where we are. Especially if he’s worried about where his boss might be,” he explained.

Derek frowned. “Do you really think that he’ll come here looking for him?”

It wasn’t exactly a stretch, not if someone figured out that Brunski was missing. And if Schraeder figured out that the man’s disappearance was suspicious and connected to Meredith Walker, it wouldn’t take him long to figure out what was going on.  They had hoped to be out of there by then.

“Get dressed, we have to go now,” he said.

Lydia got up and hurried down the hall, while Stiles yanked the sim card out of the phone and threw the phone into the trash can. He had to get the information from the sim card to his laptop, but that would take time. He gathered all of the papers off of the coffee table and his laptop, and shoved it into the messenger back that was laying on the couch.

In the bedroom, they yanked open drawers and threw on clothes. Lydia walked out of the walk- in closet, smoothing a floral dress down over her torso. “We won’t even have a chance to pack anything?”

“I’m ninety percent sure that Schrader is on his way here right now, we need to leave it and go,” Stiles looked at Derek. “Send a message to Talia, let her know what’s going on. Let Scott know to meet us at the house just outside of Sacramento,”

A plan had already been put in place, for as long as they’d been working at Triskele, not that they’d ever needed it before. They always were instructed to call someone else to meet them at the designated location, and they would get escorted home from there. It was a security measure that Talia had insisted on. Derek made sure to grab the phone that he would need to contact his mother and Scott.

“We should call Boyd too, have him put extra security on Brunski,” Lydia advised as she tugged on her boots.

They’d just barely made it into the living room when the front door was kicked in. Schrader was in the foyer, and while his hands looked empty, no one was stupid enough to believe that he was unarmed.

“I’d like to change that percentage to ninety nine,” Stiles muttered, and made a dash for his laptop bag on the couch, grabbing it and slinging the strap over his shoulder. Schrader took this as a sign that Stiles was going to run and lunged for him, one arm going behind his back where there was no doubt a gun was hidden.

Derek moved quicker than he did, his body colliding with Schrader’s. Lydia and Stiles stood there, tense with anticipation, as Derek used all of his strength and threw the man into the nearby wall. Schrader was stunned when his head met the plaster, and Derek knew that they had to move then.

“Run!” he yelled, and Stiles grabbed Lydia’s arm, pulling her along with him towards the sliding glass door off of the kitchen. Derek started to follow, but there was the unmistakable sound of a gun being fired, and Lydia let out a sharp scream.

Derek’s first thought was that she or Stiles had been shot. But they were both okay, looking at him with wide eyes. He turned around to see Schrader struggling with his gun, trying to get off a second shot, but it had jammed. The sudden blinding pain in Derek’s shoulder meant that he’d been the one shot, and when he put his fingers to his leather jacket, they came away bloody.

He collapsed to his knees as Schrader threw aside the gun and came for him again.

*

Lydia was suddenly regretting the fact that Derek didn’t like guns and never carried one. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to use them, he just didn’t need them. But in a moment like this, he needed one.

“Well, that’s one down,” Schrader put his foot in the middle of Derek’s chest and kicked him over. He kept his foot there. “Now, what to do with you two since you weren’t smart enough to run?”

Stiles actually smirked, setting down his laptop bag, “You’re under the impression that we’re defenseless?”

“No, but I’m under the impression that this one here was the muscle in this little trio. Now I suggest you give me the sim card that you took out of that phone,” Schrader said.

“You can get a sim card at that Verizon store up the street,” she said with fake helpfulness. He raised an eyebrow, pushing his foot down on Derek’s shoulder in warning.

Lydia flinched at the sound that came out from behind Derek’s gritted teeth, but she refused to let Schrader see that she was more than a little scared of what he could do. She also knew that if the bullet had hit something important, Derek was probably bleeding internally. They needed to act quickly.

“Fine, you want the sim card? I threw the phone in the trash,” Stiles shrugged, gesturing to the kitchen. “Feel free to dig it out.”

Schrader did exactly what Stiles thought he would - he turned and looked in the direction of the trash can that sat at the other end of the island in the kitchen. It was the distraction that Stiles needed, and Lydia watched as Stiles threw himself at him. He tackled Schrader the way that Derek had taught him; he grabbed him by the legs and lifted, slamming him onto his back. Schrader let out a choked sound as all of the air was knocked out of him when he hit the floor. Stiles’ fist connected with his jaw so hard that Lydia was sure that she saw a tooth fly out of the man’s mouth.

Lydia grabbed Derek’s arm and helped him up, getting him into the kitchen. She left him leaning against the counter for a moment as she searched the cabinets. Stiles let out a particularly loud curse behind her, and she turned to see that Schrader had gained the upper hand.

“What are you doing?” Derek asked. But Lydia had found what she was looking for; the cast iron skillet that she’d used when she made blueberry pancakes because she insisted they tasted better.

The skillet wasn’t heavy enough that it took both hands to hold, but it would do the job. She went back into the living room to find that Schrader was trying to get his hands back on the jammed gun. She wouldn’t give him the chance. She didn’t use all of the strength that she had to swing it, pulling back at the very last minute. The sound that it made when it connected with the back of Schrader’s skull made her stomach turn. But he collapsed to the floor, and he didn’t get back up. Lydia let the skillet hit the floor with a loud thud.

“Holy shit, did you just kill him with a frying pan?” Stiles asked in amazement.

Lydia blew a few strands of hair out of her face, eyes wide. Crouching down and pressing her fingers to Schrader’s neck, she couldn’t help but let out a breath of relief. His pulse was still there. “He’s not dead, at the very least he’s gonna have a concussion. I’m not sure which would be worse. We’ll call an ambulance from the car.”

“We’ll call the cleaners, they can be here in minutes. They’ll handle it,” Stiles assured her, grabbing his bag. “Derek, you still alive in there, big guy?”

They went into the kitchen to find him still leaning against the counter, a dish towel pressed against his shoulder. He’d taken off his jacket, and the majority of the left side of his gray t-shirt was soaked through with blood.

“I sent a message to Satomi Ito. Her team will be here soon. We should be gone before then.” He suggested. His burner phone lay on the counter, bloody fingerprints on the screen.

Lydia scooped up the phone while Stiles hooked Derek’s good arm around his shoulders, helping him along to the front door, which now hung crooked on its hinges. She didn’t hear sirens in the distance, so the few neighbors hadn’t called the cops at the sound of a gunshot. There was no other car outside besides their rentals, though there was a burgundy truck up the street that hadn’t been there before. Stiles fished the keys to Derek’s rented Camaro out of the pocket of his jeans before helping him into the back seat of the car. Lydia climbed in beside Derek. Getting behind the wheel, Stiles glanced back at them.

“See how bad it is, it’s at least a forty minute drive to the house,” he told Lydia, before starting the car and backing out of the driveway. The tires squealed as they sped down the road, and Lydia could smell burnt rubber over the smell of blood.

“Can you get your shirt off?” She knew that Derek probably wouldn’t be able to lift his arm. Gently she pulled the shirt away from his skin, wincing at the look of pain on his face. Hooking her fingers into the hole in the fabric, she tore until she could see bullet wound. Bracing herself, she shifted him forward so she could examine his back. “It’s a through and through.”

“That doesn’t mean anything, we don’t know what’s going on in there,” Derek grit out.

“Call Scott, tell him to bring Alan Deaton with him,” Stiles said from the front seat, narrowly avoiding running a red light.

“He’s a veterinarian!” Lydia hissed in protest, though her eyes were on Derek’s face. She was trying to gauge how much blood he’d lost by how pale he looked.

“You and I both know that man is more than a veterinarian.” Stiles muttered as he glanced back at them in the rearview mirror. Lydia silently agreed, and pulled out Derek’s phone.

*

The house was a bit run down, but at least it had electricity and running water, and was fully stocked with nonperishable foods and a meager bag of medical supplies. Scott and Deaton were supposed to be there within the hour, though Deaton had given Lydia explicit instructions on how to treat Derek’s wound until he got there and could see how bad the damage actually was. Derek was still upright and conscious, so they were hopeful.

But they were also worried. Derek had been hurt on a job before, sure, but he’d never been shot. This wasn’t something he could patch up on his own, and for the first time in a while it was lydia and Stiles that had to look after Derek. And he wasn’t exactly in a position to argue with them.

“The bleeding finally stopped,” Lydia said as she smoothed a fresh bandage over the exit wound on the back the of Derek’s shoulder. 

Stiles knew that there was still the possibility of something being wrong internally, but Derek was being as still as he could be. Maybe they could have taken him to a hospital, used an alias, but hospitals tended to ask questions when gunshot wounds were involved. It would be easy to lie, but that didn’t mean that the cops wouldn’t be called anyways.

“Scott should be here soon with the doctor,” Stiles pulled one of the rickety kitchen chairs closer to the one that Derek was sitting in and sat down, curling his hand over Derek’s knee. “You still good?”

He looked pale from the blood loss, but he hadn’t gone into shock yet, so they were counting that as a win. “It hurts like a bitch, but I don’t think you’re quite rid of me yet.”

“We’re not going to be rid of you at all,” Lydia said sternly, dampening a wash cloth in the kitchen sink. She dragged the third chair over, sat down and crossed one leg over the other, and began gently wiping at his face.

“Do you remember our first date?” Stiles asked suddenly.

The corner of Derek’s mouth turned up slightly. “We were trying to get our hands on that art forger, I wouldn’t exactly call that a date.”

“See, I know you’re suffering from blood loss, so I’ll let that one slide.” 

Lydia slapped Stiles’ leg and frowned, but Derek actually laughed. And then winced in pain. 

“I’m serious though, do you remember our first date?” Stiles continued.

Lydia looked at Stiles, the frown on her face replaced with a smile. She knew what Stiles was doing. He was trying to distract Derek from the pain. The idea would have to work until Scott and Deaton got there.

“Of course I remember. We went to the beach after eating at that seafood place, and Lydia complained that she got sand in her shoes so she made you give her a piggy back ride,” Derek said.

“You bought me flip flops at that little gift shop off of the pier. I loathe flip flops, but I wore them,” Lydia said with a small smile. Stiles remembered that she still had them at home.

The cell phone on the kitchen table buzzed against its surface, interrupting the moment. Stiles reached over and picked it up, seeing Talia’s name on the screen. “It’s the boss lady. I’ll handle it.”

He took the phone into the living room, hesitating on pressing the answer button. Talia might have been Derek’s mother, but at the end of the day she was still their boss. A part of him hoped that her kid getting shot took precedence over the fact that the job had gotten so screwed up. Finally, he hit the button and put the phone to his ear.

“Hey Talia--”

“Is he okay?” She didn’t bother with pleasantries, but Stiles understood her need to find out if her son was okay.

“He’s hanging in there, Deaton and Scott should be here soon and we all know that the doc has some sort of magic powers. He’ll make sure he’s good as new,” he said, hoping that his words placated her.

“How and why did he even get shot in the first place? All Scott said before they left was there was some kind of problem? I thought Brunski was in our custody?”

Stiles rubbed a hand over his face. He knew the questions had been coming. “A guy that worked for him tracked his phone to the house, and he had a gun.”

“And where is this man now?” She asked, and her voice echoed through the phone like she was outside.  For a moment, it made Stiles long for home.

“Satomi Ito was on her way to the house when we left, so I’m pretty sure he’s been dropped in a hospital somewhere that’s nowhere near us. Lydia hit him over the head...with a frying pan.” He explained.

Talia made a sound like she was trying to stifle a laugh, which was a sure sign that she wasn’t going to go all angry boss on him. “I’m glad you’re all alright. Once Alan makes sure that Derek’s going to be okay, I want all of you back in Beacon Hills.”

“Okay, we’ll see you when we get back,” he said, before hanging up.

Headlights washed over the living room from the windows before Stiles returned to the kitchen, and he peered out the curtain to see Scott’s car pulling into the driveway. He let out a breath of relief, and turned as Lydia practically ran to the front door to let them in. When Stiles went back to the kitchen, he saw that Derek was looking a little more drawn, dark smudges beneath his eyes.

“Hey,” he crouched down next to Derek, wrapping a hand gently around the back of his neck. “The doc is here to take care of you now, okay?”

Alan Deaton came into the kitchen, medical bag in hand. Scott wasn’t far behind him, and he was carrying two small duffel bags and what looked like a cooler. Only Stiles knew that it had blood in it for a transfusion.

“Derek, do you know your blood type?” Deaton asked by way of greeting.

“AB positive,” both Lydia and Stiles said at the same time, before Derek had the chance to answer.

Scott gave them both an amused look, “We brought O negative, it should take. Is there a bed anywhere in this place?”

The bedroom was at the back of the house, with a double mattress and boxspring on a creaky metal frame. Thankfully there were clean sheets in the house, and they spread them across the bed before helping settle Derek on it. And then Deaton promptly kicked Lydia and Stiles out of the room so that he and Scott could get to work.

“Get something to eat, possibly take a nap? You both look like death warmed over,” he chided.

They left the bedroom reluctantly, and went back into the kitchen. Lydia immediately started to clean the bandages off the kitchen table, throwing them in the trash. Stiles knew that she was going to feel a bit useless now that Derek was being taken care of, so he opened the cabinets in search of food. Spotting a few jars of spaghetti sauce, he double checked the date before grabbing them and the boxes of pasta on the next shelf up.

“He’s going to be okay, Lyds.” Stiles said, trying to make it sound like a promise.

Flicking her hair out of her face, Lydia turned around to look at him, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “I can’t lose him, Stiles. I can’t lose either of you.”

“Hey, you won’t. We’re not going anywhere,” he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Derek’s gonna need time to heal up, we’ll just tell Talia that we have to take care of him and can’t do any work. She’ll understand.”

“I’m not getting a nurse costume, Stiles,” she mumbled into his chest. Stiles rolled his lips into his mouth so that he wouldn’t laugh, even though he knew that wouldn’t exactly be the worst sight in the world. She pulled back to peer up at him, and he made sure that his face was almost serious.

“Wouldn’t dream of asking you to.” 

She rolled her eyes at him, and he kissed her forehead. “C’mon, help me make something to eat. There’s enough pasta in this cabinet to feed a small army.”

“I’ll find the pots,” Lydia agreed, wiping her hands beneath her eyes before turning towards the cabinets behind her.

*

Deaton declared Derek incredibly lucky. If the bullet had gone a few inches to the right, it might have damaged something, and if it hadn’t been a through and through, he probably would have had to have surgery. Derek would have to do physical therapy for his shoulder, and was ordered to come see him if he didn’t feel like he was improving at all. Derek felt like the man was very close to telling him to ‘take two aspirin and call him in the morning’ before he and Scott left to go back to Beacon Hills. Instead, he gave him some strong antibiotics and painkillers.

Lydia, Derek and Stiles left a few days after Scott and Deaton. After getting a new rental car using the new IDs that Scott brought them, and when they were sure that Derek would be okay for the drive, they returned to Beacon Hills. Derek spent most of the trip sleeping in the back seat, while Lydia and Stiles took turns driving. As much as they knew that they should have gone to Talia’s first, they took Derek home instead. 

Home was a modest two story nestled at the edge of the acreage that the Hale family owned, not far off from Talia’s own house and the Beacon Hills Preserve. It had been Derek’s project from the time he graduated high school, something that he worked on whenever he wasn’t working for his family. It wasn’t completed until after he, Stiles and Lydia got together, but once it was done he didn’t hesitate to ask them to move in with him. There was plenty of room; a big enough closet for Lydia, an office the three of them shared, and the solitude and quiet that the area provided was more than enough to make it feel like home.

It had taken a little while for their friends and family to finally realize that this wasn’t just some sort of fling for the three of them, that they were in it equally and in it for good. Stiles had a conversation about polyamory and triad relationships with his father that he probably never wanted to have again, but John supported them. Eventually, everyone did. Lydia’s mother still thought that there was going to be a time when they were going to want kids and things would get confusing for them. But none of them were quite ready for that yet.

Derek was pretty sure if he could have moved faster, he would have. He got out of the back seat of the car, glad to be stretching his legs. He half expected to find his mother on the front porch waiting for them, but the only person there was Scott, his dirt bike parked beside Stiles’ jeep.

“Glad to see you made it back in one piece,” he said, and Lydia scowled at him as she got out of the driver’s seat.

“Scott McCall, I’m very dangerous with a frying pan, please don’t test my patience today,” She  said, although she didn’t actually mean it. Scott put his hands up in self defense, and Lydia couldn’t help but smile a little.

“What brings you by, Scotty?” Stiles asked as he hauled the few bags they had out of the trunk.

“Mom wants Derek to come by the hospital in a few days to give him a check up. Not that she doesn’t trust Dr. Deaton’s judgement, but--”

“Let her know I’ll be by.” Derek agreed. Right now, he wanted nothing more than a hot shower in his own house and a nap.

“Awesome.” Scott came down the steps, giving them all quick hugs. He was a hugger. “I might be able to hold your family off for a few days for you.”

“How are you going to do that? Have you met Derek’s sisters?” Lydia wondered. Laura and Cora were definitely protective of their brother, and it wouldn’t be long before they were coming to check up on him. They meant well though.

Scott picked up his helmet off the seat of his bike, “I’ll bribe the girls with brownies and tell Talia I’ll clean out the garage or something. She’s always been a sucker for someone doing chores.”

Derek knew what he was doing, and he had to admit he was grateful for it. He loved his family, but he was tired and wanted at least a few days to recuperate before they started coming by. His mom and sisters might put up a fuss about it at first, but he knew that that they would understand.

“You’re the best brother, Scotty!” Stiles started up the steps with the bags. “Could have helped me with the bags, but hey whatever, it’s cool…” The last part was mumbled under his breath, and both Scott and Derek rolled their eyes at him.

“Get some rest, dude,” Scott said, clapping Derek on his good shoulder before straddling his bike and starting it.

Scott backed out of the driveway, the sound of his bike’s motor fading the farther down the road he got. Stiles got the door unlocked and Lydia hooked her arm around Derek’s waist, leading him into the house.

Nothing had changed in the weeks that they had been gone. Derek’s cousin Malia had agreed to go by the house a few times, to make sure that their plants were still alive and air the place out. Stiles dropped the bags in the middle of the living room floor, before face planting on the couch.

Lydia toed off her high heels, wincing when her feet were flat on the ground, “Why don’t you take a quick shower, and we can order takeout? I for one feel like doing absolutely nothing.”

“Second that,” Stiles mumbled into the couch cushion.

Derek went upstairs, passing through their bedroom to the master bathroom. He’d only been home a few minutes and he already felt more relaxed than he had the whole time they’d been looking for Brunski. Satomi had let him know before they left to come back to Beacon Hills that Schrader was stable in a hospital awaiting his transfer to the nearest jail for his involvement in Meredith Walker’s death. Stiles had passed along the information that had been on the SD card to the police, and Derek hoped that they could use that information to force Brunski and Schrader to tell them where Meredith’s body was.

Turning on the water as hot as he would be able to stand it, he stripped out of his clothes and walked into the stall. The hot water didn’t sting his wounds as much as he thought it would, and even though his shoulder was still killing him, he braced his hands on the wall and shoved his head beneath the spray.

The feel of cool air on his back made him turn around, and he was greeted with the sight of Stiles stepping into the shower stall. 

“Need me to wash your back?” He asked, a smirk on his face.

“Hey, save me some hot water, my hair smells like that crappy shampoo from the other house,” Lydia said as she slipped out of her clothes and joined them.

The shower probably could have held three more people, so there was more than enough room for the two of them to get in. Derek stepped out of the way so that Lydia could wet her hair, and Stiles reached for the body wash on the shelf. He wasn’t exactly going to turn down the offer, as he couldn’t lift his left arm above his head. He tilted his head down, closing his eyes as Stiles gently dragged the soaped up loufa across his shoulders.

*

Lydia scrubbed a towel through her hair, listening to Derek and Stiles as they bickered about what they wanted to order. With the exception of Derek’s healing wounds, it felt like their usual routine when they were home. Sometimes, Derek would cook and she and Stiles would sit in the kitchen and talk about the most random things while they watched. There was some part of her that still wanted the life that she could have had; she knew that she could easily go back and finish college, and work on being the third person to win the Field’s Medal at Stanford. But despite the fact that Derek got hurt, they had helped to bring closure to a family who had lost their daughter, and that was important to her. The job wasn’t always about solving murders -she’d done some questionable things. But they acted for the right reasons in the long run.

Pulling on one of Derek’s t-shirts and a pair of leggings, she twisted her damp hair up into a bun on top of her head and went downstairs.

“You’re the deciding vote, Thai or Chinese? C’mon Lydia, think of the egg rolls!” Stiles said from where he was sitting on the couch, one leg thrown over the arm as he held the take out menus out of Derek’s reach.

Lydia snatched them out of his hand and dropped down on the couch between the two of them. Derek smiled at her, fingers sliding along the hem of her borrowed t-shirt. He loved it when she stole his shirts. “Hm, those egg rolls are pretty good.”

Stiles threw up his arms in triumph, and Derek could only roll his eyes fondly at him, scowling a bit. Lydia scooted closer to him, kissing the edge of his jawline.

“That just means you have to order,” Derek said smugly, knowing how much Stiles hated having to place the order. Lydia only smiled sweetly and handed him back the Chinese food menu, which had all of their favorites marked.

“Ugh, fine,” he grumbled, going into the kitchen. Lydia tilted her head up to look at Derek.

“How’re you feeling? Do you need a pain pill?” She asked.

“No, I’m good for now. Maybe before bed,” he assured her, brushing a loose curl off of her cheek.

Stiles came back from ordering the food, declaring that because it was a Friday, it would be almost an hour before anyone showed up. Crawling onto the couch, he sprawled himself across Derek’s chest, leaving Lydia curled up against Derek’s side, her back pressed against the cushions.

“We should nap until the food arrives,”  Stiles declared, making sure that his head wasn’t on Derek’s bad shoulder.

Lydia could admit that she was more than a little tired. She always slept better at home, with both of them beside her. “You’ll hear the doorbell?”

“Derek will, he’s got superhuman hearing,” Stiles said, eyes already closed.

Derek flicked the tip of his nose teasingly, and Lydia hid her laugh behind her hand when Stiles started pouting. 

They dozed off like that, tangled up in each other.


End file.
